Ripples
by magic-pages
Summary: This is sort of a version of Independence Day, but from Adam's point of view. May clarify confusion on his strangely controlling mood in the episode. I don't know if any fics about this have been written already, but oh well. COMPLETE!
1. signing the waiver

A/N: sort of my craptastic default chapter, just to get things rolling. It's no great masterpiece unfortunately and a little bit too much description, but I'm kind of a perfectionist. PG-13 for later chapters, not necessarily this one.

The ceiling is blue. I blink. Blue with black dots. Now it's almost completely black, with little bits of blue creeping in. I blink again. It's a sanctuary, sort of, looking up at the ceiling. The wall is white, pieces of underlying baseball wallpaper scattered throughout. But the white is only a small fraction, inferior to the dominating trees, people, and other pieces of my mind that flow out on paper each time the door opens, clamoring to be the first out. She tells me it's a gift. The collages, glass mobiles, sculptures, the ring I only half-finished.

Her portrait, her eyes faraway, leaning on the balcony, a fallen lock of hair caught in motion. I tured it so she could see it, and I could almost see words trapped in that delicately formed mouth, and then it met mine.

There's so much to capture, I could never hope to capture it all.

"Hey! Adam!" I blink. "Yeah?" It's my dad. "The hotel called. They need you to work an extra shift tonight." Pause. "Yeah, ok", I said, even though that wasn't where I was going to be spending my evening. Tonight was supposed to be the night that Jane and I we're going to Garage Fest, our second proper date, but the first since Judith died. I asked her last week about it, and she went all quiet, but attempted to smile at me. "Okay, we'll go."

I would have told him, but I know much better not to involve myself in many of my father's conversations when his back is sore, which I know because when he tells me I have to work an extra shirt, it usually means the price of his prescription has gone up. There's almost a wall, between the real world and the one that I hopelessly crash-land into, the one of what's the point of living if I stay the assistant 'vaccuumer' at Roman Hotel until I turn 65? The same routine, the one that I get ingrained into, the tired wheel that turns the same way every day. Whenever Joan leaves, I realize how much I rely on her to bring magic to the picture.

And I'm going to the concert anyway.

* * *

I slam the door, making the camper on the back vibrate, and Joan to shiver. " Are you ready?" I ask tentatively, implying more than I say or she hears. This concert is overnight, and I thought we might go a bit further in our relationship. She looks at me strangely, and bites her quivering bottom lip, almost like she's about to spill it all out at the intersection. She smiles mischeviously, and says "I'm ready if you are."

"We're going to have to, you know, sleep in the camper."

"So?" She shrugs.

" I meant that, well maybe, we could... well, never mind." I have a nagging feeling that this trip means something different to her. I'm not quite sure what it means to me either, or what will become of it on the other side, but I do know that these hormones seem to know what they're doing. I shake my head. Thinking about Joan isn't hte best thing to do while I'm driving 2 tons of machinery, and Jane herself.


	2. a mental illness I most certainly have

Once we curled the tires so they brushed the curb, and convinced the ticket guy that our tickets were real, and that we weren't Swedish immigrants looking for a place to stay for the night, her arm curled seamlessly around mine in a firm grip, as if to ward off passerby that might come between. I couldn't help but wonder what her mother would think, if she really knew why I brought her daughter here, if she knew what was going on. How I couldn't say how I felt. How Jane was my one thing I could hold onto, my one piece of sanity. And how I probably couldn't control what might happen. And that I really didn't want to mess this up. Right there in the doorway, I prayed for good ripples.

"Um, Jane?" I timidly asked. We were outside after the concert, and I needed to straighten something out.

"Yeah?"

I was tentative about this question. "You didn't tell your parents, did you?"

"Well, um, I knew they wouldn't let me anyways. "

I sighed. " Cha, they're going to freak out when they find out."

"But they won't." She frowned. " I told my mom I was at Grace's house. Don't worry, she won't tell."

"That's not the point! If your parents don't know, when you come back no longer a-----.."

"What?"

A random guy had suddenly entered my field of view.

"Um, kid, is that your truck out there? 'Cause it's gonna get towed."

"Uh, yeah, ok, just a sec. Jane, I don't think either of us realize how important this trip is, and that some things might happen that weren't planned. And I want you to say that you trust me." I reasoned.

"I trust you to take me here and make sure nothing happens."

This wasn't going over well. "Nothing happens?" Wha---"

"Your truck's going dowwnn." The guy smirked.

Both of us yelled: "Shut up!"

Joan suddenly looked worried. "Adam, there's nothing that's going to happen, right?"

"Um, well.."

"Promise me!"

"I can't! I thought you'd want this as much as I would."

" I do, but..."

The guy looked annoyed. "Kid!"

We were losing it. "Hey, let's go get the truck and we can talk this over."

She relaxed. "Fine."

"Jane?

"You know, I didn't tell my dad either. He thinks I'm working an extra shift."

She snorted, turned her face to mine and left a light kiss on my lips.

From the very beginning, I could never help my hands. Drawing over to hers in Chemistry class, before I'd even drawn my conclusions. Just like the health guy said. Romantic love was like a mental illness. As we savored each step toward the camper, throwing out bits of conversation and holding them in the air, the door came mercifully fast. Engagement in flowing hormones had already begun, confusing me and the feelings going through my head. It sat in my stomach, this feeling, but at the same time flowed like electricity, the same way I always felt near her, but it was amplified about a thousand times, like the pounding volume of speakers. And the marching band began, this scattered parade of hands, lips, hair, and any grasp of the other. Heading in a flurry on the slick ebony pavement, I can already feel the bruises on my neck, the ones I will savour later. I trace her delicate collarbone, mouth incapable of speech and otherwise occupied. She sighs contentedly. But then the drummer trips. She shakes me off.

"A-Adam?" She's breathing hard. " I know where this is going."

"Yeah, so?" I smile mischeviously.

"But not right now." I know what she's thinking, but I want to calm the restless seas.

"Isn't it the perfect opportunity?"

"Well, yeah." Her chocolate eyes waver.

"I brought protection." I hoped this was a satisfactory answer, me having spent all yesterday afternoon pondering what type to get at the drugstore.

Her voice cracks. "Well, we've talked about this. We weren't ready."

"Cha, that was like, last year. We've been going out for a long time. This is sorta the next step, isn't it?" I held those words out, hoping to take them back.

Her lip trembled. My heart was aching with guilt. The last thing I wanted to do was make her cry. It wasn't that I needed to prove something. I just wanted to make our first time special, something neither of us would forget. Something to assure her that she was the most important person in my life. But I guess she wasn't receiving my intentions. I cupped her soft chin in my hand and raised her eyes to meet mine.

" I love you, Jane."

"I love you" she breathlessly whispered, just as I claimed her mouth and laid her down on the bed. She replied full force, sliding her small pink tongue into mine as the supply of oxygen and resistance became low. I knew then she was meant for me, and I was meant for her. A bold hand snaked it's way down from her shoulder, over her delicious curves that made it tremble. Down, my hand continued it's southward journey, gracefully swirling in her belly button and making her moan as she stroked my hair. Down, into that secret warm place between her thighs that I aimed for. Then she suddenly sat up, breathing hard.


	3. i have no idea where my head was at, but...

Disclaimer: selective lyrics from "I So Hate Consequences" copyright of relient k and gotee music. Also I do not own Joan of Arcadia. Though I very much wish I did. sighs

I don't believe in blotting out your emotions with beer, or music. But art helps. The splatter-paint feelings come out very well on canvas, especially when your girlfriend is afraid to get too close to you because she thinks you're an overly hormonal teenager who only thinks about sex. The hormonal part I guess, is true, but the sex part... My intentions came out in computer language. She thinks last weekend is an example of how I want to spend all of our weekends, that she's only an object. That's how I interpret her feelings anyway. But then again, I hope that she doesn't want to end u

I scuff my shoes on the worn mat that declares 'Welcome'. As if I'm that welcome anyways, with her whole family probably thinking I'm a raging sex addict and all. Maybe they're all packing up to leave right now, afraid I'm coming to attack them. I'll be reported to the police, and I won't get A's in art anymore. I knock, and I see her rounding the corner, taking hesitating steps toward the door, or rather farther away from her comfort zone, and I love her for that. When she feels strongly about something, she doesn't look back. The fiberglass barrier is soon broken, and I'm standing face to face with the person that I put all my hopes and dreams on, this boat of wonders that she would sail away in soon if I didn't hold the rope. She smiles slightly.

"Um, hi."

"Hey." I stare deeply into her eyes and at that moment, I forget my speech I prepared in the shed.Well it's not like I make speeches like this everyday.

"I-I'm sorry about this weekend. I was-" I swallowed "really not thinking rationally and yeah, um I hope that... now I'm lost, lost in those eyes that say it all. Now I know I can close my mouth. She takes a step closer. But I don't get it! I was a total jerk, and she obviously doesn't feel comfortable going that far, with me, stepping over the threshold, and I pushed her. Maybe when she said, "I really want you to like me," she meant something less than a relationship, something that didn't require so much work, something that required less of my all.

" I know that--" her voice cracks-"This isn't something that we were ready for, even though, well, I did want it." And I guess that I did too, obviously. And I wish that loving her was easier. She always moved, moved from one thing to the next, fleeting, leaving everyone in the dust, especially me.

And I so hate consequences

Running from you is what my best defence is

Consequences

Don't make me face up to this

And I so hate consequences

'Cause I know that I let you down

And I don't want to deal with that

There was consequences, I knew that, for fast-moving thoughts that haven't quite been thought out, for using too many words when they weren't needed. I grab her hand "C'mon, I want to show you something. " I lead her outside to the front steps, where the air is heavy, and quiet. She sighs. Suddenly the ice breaks, falling down to the ocean floor, and I know that even though I'm uneasy, and she doesn't look all that comfortable,it's out in theopen,and that's all that matters. The ripples touched everything in their path, rustled things, and flipped over others. Unchallenged.

End.


End file.
